


Escape

by emynn



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Breathplay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Porn, Post-Series, Restraints, Romance, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Justin misses out on an opportunity that could have made his career, Brian comes up with a plan to help him get away from it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Britin 30 Day Challenge on Tumblr, Prompt #12: “Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it’s all over.” - Gloria Naylor

“I can’t do it.” 

Brian had been distracted when he’d answered his phone, his attention on the proofs that Flowers had managed to fuck up _again_ , but the raw edge to Justin’s voice draws him to high alert immediately. “Can’t do what?”

“The show,” Justin says, and in his mind Brian can see him running his hand through his hair, leaning his head back against a wall. “I had to pull out.”

It’s a testament to how desolate Justin sounds that Brian doesn’t even consider seizing that blatant opportunity for his patented sexual innuendo. “Why?”

“It’s my fucking hand,” Justin says. “I can’t even hold a paintbrush for more than a few minutes before it seizes up. There’s no way I’m going to be able to finish a dozen pieces by next week.”

Brian frowns. “Don’t you have some paintings you’ve already done you can use?”

“I tried,” Justin says. “Not enough to fit the show’s theme.”

“Then why don’t you just display the ones you have?”

“Because then I’d be ‘taking away the grand opportunity from another aspiring young artist to display a full wall at the most prestigious show of the year,’” Justin recites, bitterness marking his every word.

“Fuckers,” Brian mutters. “The other aspiring artist is too good to share a goddamn wall?” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “You can’t use your computer?”

“Not the right style,” Justin says. “Fuck, I hate this. This could have been _it_.”

“I know,” Brian says. He doesn’t bother trying to tell Justin there will be other shows, other opportunities. If there’s one thing they learned since Justin moved to New York a year ago, it’s that making it as an artist doesn’t just require talent, or even hard work. It takes a lot of fucking luck. There’s no getting around that this show could have been the break Justin needed to finally launch his career. They both know that. And he doesn’t bother to say he’s sorry either. Sorry’s bullshit. They both know that, too.

The only problem is that doesn’t leave much to say. For at least the fiftieth time that day, and likely the thousandth time that week, Brian wishes he and Justin were back in the same city. He’s always been much better communicating with touch than with words.

“You should go out tonight,” Brian says. “Fuck some hot guy who’ll appreciate how _hung_ you are in all the right ways.”

Justin, thankfully, laughs. “I wish. I work six to close. Last hot guy to come through those doors was probably in 1992.”

Brian bites the inside of his cheeks. They’ve had this argument before. By now he’s resigned himself that Justin’s not going to quit working at that cockroach motel of a restaurant until he manages to earn a somewhat steady income as an artist. Even though the general clientele makes Sap seem like a gentleman. Even though the long hours carrying heavy trays of dishes doesn’t exactly help Justin’s hand. He decides to change the subject. 

“Do you still want me to come up next weekend?”

Justin’s silent, and Brian feels his stomach twist. They hadn’t seen each other in more than a month, and his desire to have Justin back in his arms is teetering on desperation. Given how eagerly Justin had been talking about his next visit, he’d assumed Justin would still want to see him even without the show, but maybe he wanted to sit alone and brood. 

“You can say no,” Brian says. He’d been aiming for nonchalant, but he’s pretty sure he missed it by a long shot.

“I want to see you,” Justin says. “I just don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in New York and know that show is going on just a few subway stops away. I don’t even want to see a fucking paintbrush, or a canvas, or a pencil. I don’t even want to _think_ about art.”

“Okay, okay,” Brian says. “Then how about you come to Pittsburgh? I’ll be sure to remove all art paraphernalia.”

Justin sighs. “Everyone knows about the show. I can’t stand to have them look at me and feel sorry for me.”

“We don’t even have to leave the loft,” Brian says. It’s actually a pretty appealing thought.

“They’d still know I was there,” Justin says. “They always do.”

It’s true. Debbie in particular seems to have a sixth sense about whenever Justin’s in town. They haven’t managed to have a secret visit yet.

“Okay, then,” Brian says. “This is what we’re going to do. You’re going to meet me at JFK at 10AM on Friday as planned.”

“But --”

“Trust me.”

Justin sighs again, but this time Brian is relatively certain he’s smiling. “Okay. And Brian?”

Brian steps outside of his office and gestures for Cynthia to come inside. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. I love you.”

Brian smiles. “See you Friday.”

Cynthia already has a notepad out when Brian sets his phone down. “What’s going on?”

“Have a seat,” Brian says. “We have a lot of planning to do.”

~*~

Justin launches himself into Brian’s arms a split second after they make eye contact. Brian pulls him in close, kissing him before burying his head in the crook of his neck and breathing in his familiar scent. They rock side to side, occasionally pressing their lips to skin, but mostly simply taking in the moment of finally being in the same space, breathing in the same air, the interminable distance finally replaced with being so close Brian can’t quite tell where his body ends and Justin’s begins. 

Vaguely recalling they’re on a tight schedule, Brian reluctantly pulls away, although he can’t resist one final quick kiss on his way. “Did you pack a bag?”

Justin gestures at the suitcase behind him. Brian’s pleased to note it’s the one he gave him for his birthday, and not the fucking duffel bag he’d always used before. “Yeah. Not that you gave me much advice on what to pack.”

“It’s only a long weekend,” Brian says. “You’ll be fine.”

“Hypocrite,” Justin says, grinning as he inclines his head toward the three suitcases behind Brian. “Now, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Brian reaches into his jacket and pulls out two boarding passes. He waves them in front of Justin, smirking. “Viva Las Vegas.”

~*~

Brian is still shivering from the sudden soft scratch of a tongue sliding up the curve of his neck when a very familiar hand comes from behind him and makes its way under the band of his jeans. He ignores the looks coming at him from around the table -- some irritated, others undeniably aroused -- and grabs Justin’s wrist.

“Now, Sunshine, how do you expect me to make up for the $400 you lost on the slots machines if you distract me from my hand?”

“I was really hoping you’d be more interested in _my_ hand,” Justin says, and bites Brian’s ear. “Or my ass. I’m not picky.”

“You raise a good point,” Brian says, placing another stack of chips next to the first and raising a finger. “Double down.”

“Only a point?” Justin says, and grips Brian’s dick. “How disappointing.”

Brian glances down at the new card and smiles. “Blackjack,” he says, and pulls Justin down for a fierce kiss. “Not a bad note to go out on.”

By the time they cash out, Brian is roughly a thousand dollars richer and infinitely more turned on. And Justin…

Brian tugs Justin closer to him, a bit rougher than he intended, but Justin clearly doesn’t mind the jolt. He looks up at Brian with the most radiant smile Brian’s seen on his face this weekend. 

Justin had been subdued on the plane, forgoing chatting in favor of simply twining his fingers with Brian’s and resting his head on his shoulder for the duration of the flight. His behavior wasn’t enough to cause Brian any real alarm, but enough to make him wonder if he had entirely missed the mark with this surprise trip. Brian’s aim had been to take Justin as far away from New York and Pittsburgh as possible, to a location with enough buzz and excitement to distract Justin from the fact he was supposed to be participating in what could have been the biggest show of his life that weekend. And what better place to do that than Sin City? They could both do with a bit more sinning in their life.

And sin they had. They hadn’t even left their penthouse suite the first day. Brian is completely confident art hadn’t even crossed Justin’s mind. No, both of them had been entirely focused on each other, of the feel of skin on skin, lips on lips, cock against cock. As much as Brian would prefer to still live with Justin, he can’t deny that nothing quite compares to the headiness of their reunion sex, fucking against any surface they could, teetering on a fulcrum between rough desperation and sweet tenderness. By the time they had surrendered to sleep, roughly 24 hours after Brian had boarded his flight for New York, Justin had a sated smile on his face and Brian was proud of himself for still being able to remember his own name.

He’d been slightly concerned Justin would wake in the morning, the day of his thwarted show, and be as melancholy as he’d been when he’d called Brian to say it wasn’t happening. But he clearly needn’t have worried, because he woke up to the inspiring sensation of having his dick sucked. After a rather exuberant fuck in bed and then another in the shower, they’d gone downstairs for a late brunch that was heavy on the mimosas. Justin had been smiling nearly the entire time and, Brian was pleased to note, seemed determined to keep at least one hand on Brian at all times.

It’s been incredible, spending the day spent lounging at the pool drinking overly sweet and obscenely expensive drinks and the night spent gambling at the casinos, but now Brian’s eager to return to their hotel room. The lights and sounds of Vegas are thrilling, the absolute opposite of the somewhat pretentious air of the typical art show, but Brian can tell they’re both ready for an entirely different type of distraction.

“Come here,” Justin says when they reach their room, and leads him by the hand toward the door to their balcony. “It’s a gorgeous night. I bet we can see all the stars out here.”

“Personally, I was hoping to spend the night gazing at your big dick rather than the Big Dipper,” Brian says.

Justin turns around and grins. “Only fucking indoors these days? Sorry, I didn’t realize you turned all vanilla once you reached middle age.”

“Fuck you,” Brian says, and swats Justin’s ass. 

Justin only laughs and grabs Brian’s wrist, pulling him outside. 

Brian spares only a brief second to glance up at the stars before diverting his attention to the far brighter attraction of Justin’s smile. 

“I love this look on you,” Justin says, tugging at Brian’s tie. “You should wear vests more often. I was watching you all night, thinking about you just taking your dick out and fucking me.”

“Is that so?” Brian feels tie digging into the back of his neck, and when he shivers he knows it’s not just due to the slight breeze.

“And your sleeves rolled up to your elbows,” Justin continues. “Like you’ve been _hard_ at work.”

Brian grips Justin’s hips and grinds his dick against him. “You have no idea _how_ hard.”

“I don’t know,” Justin says, and he pulls hard enough on Brian’s tie that it briefly chokes his air until he caves and leans in, close enough so he’s a breath away from Justin’s mouth but not quite touching. “I feel I’ve always had a good handle on these kinds of things.”

Justin gives another firm jerk to the tie, and Brian suddenly tires of the game. He smashes their mouths together, kissing Justin hard and fierce. Justin stumbles and Brian grabs him, but instead of pulling them back up, pushes him back against the ledge of the balcony. Justin groans, abandoning the tie to reach for Brian’s hair. It’s an awkward angle, but Justin doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he only wrenches Brian’s body closer to him. Brian snakes a hand between them and manages to pull Justin’s shirt up over his head. He means to drop it to the floor, but as he’s busy biting the nape of Justin’s neck, Justin unzips his fly and pulls out his dick and strokes it firmly, and Brian feels the shirt slip from his fingers and freefall down to the streets below.

“Fuck,” Justin whispers.

Brian yanks his tie off and ties it around Justin’s wrists with practiced ease, then spins Justin around to face the view he spent a fucking mint on. “I believe you said you wanted to look at the stars.”

“Fuck, Brian!”

Brian tugs down Justin’s pants and then digs a hand into his pockets to pull out a small packet of lube he stole from the men’s room at the casino. It’s not as high quality as he usually prefers, but it’ll do the trick for now. He rips it open with his teeth and squeezes a dollop onto his fingers. Justin pushes back against him as he enters him, and when Brian bites his shoulder, he can already see his knuckles growing white as he grips the ledge of the balcony. 

“Seeing stars?” Brian asks, scissoring his fingers as he presses lingering kisses up and down Justin’s neck. 

Justin moans, his head dropping forward. Brian grabs him by the chin, jerking his face toward him and capturing his mouth in another bruising kiss.

“Fuck me,” Justin says. “Now. Do it.”

“Now?” Brian asks, and even as he reaches for a condom he continues trailing his mouth over Justin’s hot, sticky skin. “Do you think anybody’s out there, maybe in that hotel room right across the way? Do you think they’re watching now, watching me bending you over and fucking you?”

“Yessss,” Justin hisses. 

“That’s it,” Brian says, and, after a few more strokes, slowly enters Justin. “Feel that?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Brian’s always loved this, being fully clothed while fucking an entirely naked Justin. He loves feeling Justin entirely at his will, knowing that he’s baring himself just for him. It’s fucking hot as hell, to feel that heat around his cock, to feel the heat rise from within, to feel it all become too much as the fire threatens to consume his entire body. As his one hand grips Justin’s cock, his thumb rubbing over the head, Brian uses the other to tug at his shirt and vest. He’s absently aware of a button or two ripping free but pays them no mind. As the breeze tickles his newly exposed, sweat-slicked skin, he shivers and rests his head against the back of Justin’s neck, thrusting hard into him.

“Fuck,” Brian breathes. “You. You’re…”

“Yeah,” Justin says. His hands are straining against the tie, and Brian can tell he’s desperate to reach back and touch him. Brian takes pity on him and draws his head back so he can kiss him again. It’s raw, desperate, too much and not enough. “Love.”

The world explodes. Brian continues pounding into Justin, feeling lava course through his veins, but suddenly he sees the stars glimmering at them, sees the bright neon Vegas lights blinking at them, feels the otherworldly light blinding them with its intensity. Unable to hold back, he cries out as he feels Justin tighten around him. Justin shouts as he comes, and even with all the noise in the streets below, it’s all Brian hears ringing in his ears as he follows Justin in his release.

Justin slumps over the ledge of the balcony, breathing heavily. Brian swiftly pulls at the tie, freeing his wrists, and pulls him into his arms. It takes all his strength not to stumble when Justin throws all his weight against him, evidently so well-fucked he can barely stand on his own. Brian threads his fingers through Justin’s sweaty hair and holds him as close as he is able. He has no idea what part of Justin he’s touching, can’t say if he’s pressing his lips to Justin’s cheek or neck of mouth. But even as his knees threaten to buckle beneath him, he feels steadier in this moment, holding Justin beneath the stars and neon lights, than he has in a long time.

They stand there for a long while, barely possessing the strength to hold each other, but somehow tangled together so closely Brian can hardly tell where he body ends and Justin’s begins. It should be uncomfortable, given how he’s sweated through his clothing and his hip is now digging into the ledge of the balcony, but as the breeze dances over them, he can barely remember ever feeling so content. 

Justin twists himself ever so slightly, just enough so his head is no longer completely buried in Brian’s shoulder, and he, too, has a clear view of the sky. Brian’s suddenly exhausted, and can nearly see a hazy veil descending over his vision. But just when he thinks that the sound of Justin’s breathing might be the sound that lulls him to sleep, standing outside on this balcony, he feels the slightest of squeezes around his waist.

“Incredible, isn’t it?”

Even in his state, Brian knows Justin’s not just talking about the sex, or Vegas, or the stars. He’s not even just talking about them. It’s something more. Something Brian can’t quite put into words, at least not now, but he knows they both desperately needed.

Somehow, they find themselves back in the bedroom, and Brian’s stripped of his clothes. He curls his body around Justin’s. He wants to hold him, but his limbs feel so heavy he only manages to tuck his head into Justin’s shoulder. As he drifts off into sleep, he’s dimly aware of Justin brushing his hair back off his face and murmuring sweet-sounding words that trickle over Brian’s overheated body like a cool breeze.

When Brian startles awake some time later, Justin’s gone. He glances over at the clock -- 1:07 AM. It’s practically the senior special for them, especially given they’re in Las fucking Vegas. Brian rolls over in bed, checking his phone in case Justin sent him a text. There’s nothing there, but he does find a note scrawled on Brian’s boarding pass in Justin’s familiar handwriting telling him he’d be right back.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Brian forces himself out of bed. He knows he could wait in comfort, but he knows there’s no way he’ll fall back asleep until Justin returns… and once he does, he plans on making far better use of their time together than catching up on his beauty sleep.

He pulls on a pair of lounge pants, grabs the magazine he swiped from the hotel lobby, and pads out into the living area, settling in on the couch.

Somehow, since apparently his years are catching up to him, Brian manages to doze off again. But this time when he wakes, Justin’s nestled back under his arm, leaning against Brian’s chest.

It’s such a familiar sight, identical to countless lazy nights they’ve spent together, that it’s a full minute before Brian registers that Justin has a sketchpad in his lap and is biting his lip in concentration as he draws with careful but confident strokes.

He clears his throat, and Justin turns back to look at him. His smile is soft, sheepish, and filled with so much tenderness that Brian feels his body warm all over again.

“It’s not much,” Justin says, showing Brian his progress. “I picked it up at the gift shop. I just had this image in my head and I had to get it out.”

Brian squeezes Justin’s shoulder. “It’s going to be incredible.”

Justin reaches up to clasp Brian’s hand, gives it a soft kiss. “Thanks,” he says, and Brian hears everything else he doesn’t need to say. “I think so, too.”

Brian smiles and subtly adjusts his position so Justin can lean more easily against him. As if they were connected by an invisible thread, Justin falls back against him, his eyes still on the sketchpad. 

The night’s still young. Outside, the city’s lights are still shining down upon everybody reveling out in the night, watching over all those trying their luck as they down liquor, giving them a conspiratorial wink as they soak in the unique energy of Vegas, all wild thrills and excitement, a dazzling cacophony of sounds and colors.

But here inside Brian and Justin sit curled up against each other, the only sound Justin’s pencil scratching against paper. But Brian knows it’s not just drawing an image, but their future, and one brighter and more vibrant than any illusion Sin City can offer. What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas, but they’ll take this with them wherever they go. 

And that makes them the luckiest of them all.


End file.
